The Art of Carrying On
by Lady Stradivari
Summary: Part I: Since her father's passing, Misaki was determined to continue his legacy and restore his honor as a ceramic artist. She is taken in as a student by a ceramic master, who was a close friend of her father, and delves into the world of ceramics alongside her master's grandsons, Gerald & Takumi, attempting to master both the art of pottery and carrying on. #5


**Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. belong to Hiro Fujiwara. The original characters and the plot belong to yours truly. This story is fictional; any scene resembling that of a person's life is completely coincidental.

 **Author's Notes:** You may omit this portion, but to those who choose to read this, I appreciate it. Since the break has arrived, I've been determined to write a multitude of stories, since in the near future, I wouldn't have much time to do this, as I am nearing internship. However, the more that I think about internship, the more I worry about the fate of my stories, and ultimately the readers that I'll be letting down. Due to this event, I wasn't able to generate any material that was worth posting, so I took a break from writing to regain inspiration. As a result, this story emerged. Anyhow, enjoy!

 **Dedication:** To _You,_ bearing the emotional scars and disenchantment of the world before you. Do not let the world take away your sweetness and your love of life. As the famous saying goes, keep calm and carry on.

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 **The Art of Carrying On  
** Written by Lady Stradivari

 ** _Part I_  
** _Rising from the Ashes_

* * *

 **PROLOGUE  
** KEN

* * *

It was definitely a sight to see.

He had only seen her twice, and yet, there she was, standing before him with a luggage bag filled with clothes and a backpack filled with books and papers. Her raven black hair was in disarray from the wind, her clothes sullied, and her face pale from traveling. However, there was a hint of resolve conveyed in her eyes—a fire that he has never seen in the eyes of any apprentice he had mentored for the past 40 years—that he found amusing about the girl. Truly, she was Sakuya's daughter, as she resembled her father both in looks and in skill.

Since they had exchanged greetings a while ago, they have been surrounded with nothing but the sound of the wood burning from the kiln. Odd, he figured, for someone who seemed so determined to talk to him was holding herself back. She has a request to make; a big one perhaps, but Ken felt that regardless of his answer, Ayuzawa Sakuya's daughter was going to stay there.

He clears his throat, placing his elbow on the wooden table on his right. "What brings you here, child? You have traveled all the way to my home, which isn't an easy feat, I must say, considering that I haven't brought you here before."

She takes in a deep breath before bowing her head and to an extent, even bending her back. "My name is Ayuzawa Misaki, daughter of Ayuzawa Sakuya. Please take me in as your student, Usui Ken-san."

Ken kept his nonchalant exterior intact. He had prepared himself for this response, noting the baggage she brought with her, though a part of him was hoping that it wouldn't turn out this way. Sakuya was an exemplary potter. Despite never undergoing formal training, Sakuya had produced works of exceptional quality, both in aesthetics and in durability. He pitied the fellow for being brought to this world in the impoverished state in which he is in. Had he been privileged, he would've been acknowledged by a more welcoming public. Other than that, his wife had succumbed to cancer, and he pays back with every ceramic masterpiece, only playing in the shadows. A respectable man in his eyes, and yet, his daughter is requesting that he take her in.

"I have no intention to mentor anybody apart from my grandsons." Ken replied sternly.

The girl lifted her head. "Please reconsider, Usui-san. I don't have a home, and my relatives have been nothing but unbearable—,"

"They do not concern me, child. Leave."

"Father took his life…"

His heart sank at the thought.

Eyes widened, Ken gripped onto the edge of the table, as if he were trying to grasp onto the reality behind her words.

"Father took his life… I was brought to my relatives with whom I've been living for a few months now…" she trails, while every word had become heavier every time she tried to speak. Nonetheless, her eyes didn't lose that resolve that brought her to him, despite being pensive. "…I knew he was depressed, but he fought. He strove, and 'Mother & Child' proved that. He knew what he was fighting for, but because of _him_ , Igarashi Seishiro… he wouldn't have done what he had done if Igarashi didn't steal his work—,"

"Child—,"

"Everything my father had made, he gave it to him, and father accepted his fate. He was willing to offer him everything but 'Mother & Child', and yet, that monster—,"

"Aren't you going to keep your mouth shut when I tell you to!?" Ken raised his voice, silencing the lass whose emotions have become turbulent. "What are you planning to do? Tell the world about how they wronged your father? If you do that, then you are a foolish child, and I don't want to waste my time talking to such people."

"Usui-san!"

"What are you doing here, child? You want to be my student, yet what drives this act of yours is hatred, along with the hopes of vengeance. What do you want to accomplish from being my student? You wish to take down an influential person such as Igarashi Seishiro, and have him brought to justice through this craft!? If you are, then you are undoubtedly a foolish child! You may possess the same pair of hands as your father's, but your heart carries nothing but pure resentment! Because of this, I cannot accept you as my student."

And with that, she had turned docile, like a child caught in the act, though it seemed as if she is still unapologetic.

"Everything that you've said was correct, Usui-san." She sighed, a bittersweet smile surfacing across her face while she directed her gaze at the kiln behind him. "I hate that man. I hate him for claiming my father's works. I hate him for stealing the only masterpiece he treasured so much. I hate him for burning my father's hand, driving him into further despair to the point that he can't take it. I hate him for breaking the rules when my father had been playing fairly. I hate him so much that I wish that his entire body would be set into flames."

Ken stared at the child with a growing sense of pity. Granted that she was bereft, yet for her to carry this much hatred in her heart and for her to think of nothing but how her father had been wronged, Ken pitied the child. She was gradually losing her way.

"Child," he called her, motioning his hand for her to move closer. When she had done so, he points at a plate bigger than both of their heads combined that was resting on the shelf. "Do you see that plate? I want you to get it."

Puzzled with his instructions, Misaki continues to blindly follow him, persistent on being his student. On her toes, she was able to reach for the plate. It was heavy and cold to her touch, and she shook it in the air to gauge its weight before returning to him. Ken concealed his smile by placing the back of his hand against his mouth.

"Throw the plate on the floor."

"Pardon?"

"Give it all you've got. Throw it on the floor. Release your anger on that thing."

She does as what she's told, and throws the plate on the floor, even crying in rage while doing so. The sound of its collapse resonated, and the plate had been shattered, with some of the debris landing atop the lap of the master. He begins to smile smugly in front of her as he relays his wisdom to the foolish child before him.

"You've done it." He remarked, fascinated by how she took his instructions seriously. "Now, give me back my plate in one whole piece."

Her jaw dropped.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me, girl! Hand it over to me in one piece."

It took a while for her to respond, but Ken was able to notice how her eyes had lost that fierce determination that he saw a few minutes ago, replaced with uncertainty. He chuckled inwardly; she wasn't that much of a foolish child after all.

"You can't, can you?" He taunted, pursing his lips while she eyed him pointedly. "Given that you were able to piece them back together, but it will take a long time to rebuild it and restore it to its former glory. Do you know why I told you to do this?" Ken asked, and she shrugged her shoulders in response. "It's because the plate that you threw on the floor is your _life_." Upon telling her so, Ken saw the surprised look on her face. Unknown to him, her entire body stiffened, and she felt shivers running down her spine at the metaphor. "Now imagine, it's the only life that you ever have in this world. Rather than cherishing it, you let your emotions get the better of you and recklessly throw it on the ground, destroying it. Now that you realized that it's broken, you try to fix things, but too much damage has been done, and it would take you a long time to recover. Child, I'm not saying that you shouldn't feel anger right now, but your actions as a result of anger could do you more harm than you could ever imagine."

She hangs her head low in defeat. Deep down, Ken knew that she had silently agreed.

"You are a talented young artist who is blinded by hatred. Even if I did agree to teach you, everything would be in vain, because I would only be fueling your anger than satisfying your passion for ceramics."

"Still, Usui-san…" she cried aloud, "Please let me stay here with you. In time, when you see that I'm fit to become your student, please accept me."

Despite willing to offer her a place to stay, Ken still contemplated the prospect of having her as a student. He already had his hands full with his grandsons, Gerald and Takumi, and the burden of choosing the heir between the two was also given to him. Added, he wanted to spend more time in the creation of his works. Accepting another student would entail more time for the one learning, and she had no money to offer in return for his services. Lastly, what if her resentment remained after all these years? She will not benefit if that is the case, but judging from her reaction just now, the child wasn't entirely hopeless. All she needed was a helping hand and a way to channel that anger into a creative outlet.

Albeit with partial reluctance, Ken resigns.

"Very well. I will teach you…" He announced, earning him a smile that reached the tips of her ears. "…on one condition. If one of my grandsons sees you fit, then I will be your mentor. I swear on my honor as a ceramic artist."

And she smiled brightly that he couldn't see a tinge of anger on her face anymore.

At that moment, he knew he had breathed life back into her.

* * *

 **TO BE CONTINUED**

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 **End Notes:** Not sure when I'll be updating this, as I will be focusing more on The Princess Pauper. I haven't nailed down the exact direction of this story either, so there isn't much motivation behind this, considering that this was written from a spur of the moment. It's divided into parts, and I'll be shifting points of view per chapter. As always, your constructive feedback is highly appreciated. Thanks for reading! Until next time.

Cheers,  
Lady Stradivari


End file.
